


Don't Lock Us Out, Kid

by Nyctae



Series: Mac and Mia [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Bulimia, Caring Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Eating Disorders, Episode: s02e10 War Room + Ship, Gen, Half of the characters are there for like three lines, Hurt/Comfort, Macgyver-centric, Purging, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyctae/pseuds/Nyctae
Summary: Mac is convinced the universe is out to get him, and as the night progresses, his hypothesis is proved more and more.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Mac and Mia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714645
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Don't Lock Us Out, Kid

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** There is eating disorder-esque imagery in this. There is purging and binge-eating. Please don't read if it will trigger you.  
> 

The team arrived back at Phoenix after finishing a mission. Thankfully, no one had gotten hurt, but due to bad intel, there were some near brushes with death. Since Riley and Jack complained about being exhausted, everyone agreed to reschedule the fire for another day. After a bit more chatting, Bozer and Leanna made impromptu plans to go out for dinner. This meant Mac would be alone in the house. He would be alone to succumb to one of his least favourite stress relievers: binge eating.

Mac exchanged goodbyes with the team before everyone split off in their cars. He took the familiar route home on autopilot. However, he didn’t stop at his house. He kept driving until he was in the parking lot of a nearby gas station. Clambering out of his vehicle, he hurried inside towards the snack aisles.

He took his time browsing the seemingly endless rows of snacks. He grabbed a family size bag of barbeque chips, a few honey buns, and a small bag of almonds. Satisfied with his findings, he approached the refrigerated section. He pulled a Coke off one of the shelves then moved on to the ice cream with plans to snag a pint of his favourite flavour. That all changed when he saw the shelf with Rocky Road. Mac felt a sharp pang in his chest, and the still-fresh memories of Zoe—the 32nd student who never made it home—flooded his mind. He never stopped blaming himself for that night because if he just had a few more things and a few more minutes, maybe she would have made it home. Maybe they would’ve been able to get that ice cream together.

Part of him wanted to grab Rocky Road to honour her memory, but he knew he shouldn't. He felt horrendous and shameful whenever he binged; he didn’t want to mar her memory because he decided he needed to shove junk food down his throat to relieve his stress. Strawberry was an okay flavour anyway.

With his bounty precariously balanced in his arms, he made his way over to the cash register. For a moment, he feared what the cashier would say. Would he be judged? Would he get the typical “enjoy your party” remark? His fears were assuaged by the apathetic look of the teenager, who merely muttered the total price and a half-hearted goodbye.

Mac drove back home and checked to make sure Bozer was still gone. He took a fork out of the silverware drawer and rushed to his room with the plastic bag in hand. He tossed everything onto his bed before throwing his shirt aside and changing into sweatpants.

The next half hour was spent lying on his bed with Netflix on. He shoved handfuls of chips into his mouth, followed by bites of honey buns and spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream with intermittent sips of soda. He barely paid attention to the flavour of the food or the TV show playing. He just wanted to feel something other than the overwhelming stress looming over him, even if it was discomfort from the quantity of food in such little time.

He reached into the chip bag to find it empty, and suddenly everything hit him. His mouth had a sickeningly sweet coating from all the sugar he consumed, and his hands were sticky from the ice cream and honey buns. He felt lethargic, and disgust weighed down on his already full, bloated stomach. He really wanted a nap, but he never could sleep when he felt so gross. He had to do something about it, but he didn’t want to throw up. He despised purging and had only ever done it a handful of times. After a binge, he typically preferred to go for a short run, sleep, and exercise for hours the next morning.

It took a few minutes to will himself to get off his bed, wash his hands, and rinse his mouth. He was slowly lacing up his running shoes when a text message notification interrupted him. Pulling his phone out, he saw it was from his roommate.

“ _Hey we didnt make a reservation and the wait is too long. Were picking up italian for everyone. Can you start a fire in twenty?_ ”

Mac stared dumbfounded at his phone. Twenty minutes was not enough time to run, clean his room, and make himself look presentable. The last thing he wanted was to help host a team debrief dinner, but he clearly didn’t have much of a choice. He would just have to power through the discomfort and exhaustion. 

“ _Yeah of course_ ”

With a sigh, Mac picked himself up off the ground, kicking his shoes off. He trudged back into his room, changing into a loose button-up and jeans. He debated whether he should clean everything off his bed, but laziness won. It wasn’t like anyone was planning to go into his room. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that he didn’t look great, but he could pass it off as being tired and stressed. Glancing at the clock, he noted he only had 15 minutes, and he still needed to start the fire.

He got the fire started in 10 minutes and decided to sit down for the remaining 5. His stomach still felt heavy, and his mind was screaming at him to go for a run. A run would be nice, and sleep also sounded heavenly at the moment. Anything to get him out of his head sounded great. 

His friends usually helped him escape his thoughts, but right now he did not want to see them. He hated being around others after he binged. He was supposed to be alone tonight, yet now they were on their way. He didn’t want his friends to see him when he felt so awful.

“Hey, Mac! Did you get the fire started?” Bozer yelled as he and Leanna made their way to the deck, plastic bags of food in hand.

The sight of the bags already made Mac feel a bit nauseous. On one hand, he wanted to lose himself in the taste of spaghetti and buttery garlic bread, and on the other, he didn’t want to eat for a few days. Today wasn’t one of his worst binges, but a binge is still a binge.

A friendly punch hit his shoulder, and he looked up at Bozer. “You doing okay? You seem out of it.” 

“Just a bit tired and stressed,” he said and shrugged the hand off his shoulder. He felt conflicted about touch after a binge. Part of him craved affection and comfort while the other part didn’t want anybody near him. His body felt gross, and he feared that someone would know how much he ate just by touching him.

More people arrived in intervals until the whole team was there: Mac, Bozer, Leanna, Riley, Jack, and Matty. They all sat by the fire with various refreshments, chatting happily. Mac joined in and started to feel a bit better. He wasn’t thinking about any problems, simply enjoying the company of his family.

“So who’s hungry?” Bozer grinned as he started pulling containers out of the plastic bags.

Mac’s mood took a nosedive as Leanna helped distribute the generous portions of pasta.

He would have to eat at least a little bit to not look suspicious, but he knew once he started eating, he wouldn’t stop until his food was gone.

The cheerful chatter returned, but Mac couldn’t bring himself to be invested in the conversation. He forced himself to eat slowly and took a piece of garlic bread when Jack offered some. His stomach protested, and the mild discomfort gradually morphed into pain.

When his food was gone, his mind was empty except for the overwhelming need to feel less full. He abruptly stood up and began to stagger inside.

“Hey, Mac, where are you going?” Riley asked.

He turned around, trying to come up with an explanation. “I… uh, bathroom.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

His answer was accepted, and everyone turned back away from him. He bolted to the bathroom farthest away from the deck. He didn’t bother turning on the faucet or the shower to mask any sounds. He didn’t care anymore; he needed respite. 

He pulled the toilet lid open and hastily shoved his fingers down his throat. As he gagged, he immediately regretted his decision. He rarely purged, meaning he didn’t care what he binged, but now he was trying to force pastries, bread and pasta out of his stomach. 

By the end of the first round of throwing up, his shirt had been splashed with vomit and saliva. He breathed heavily as he tugged off his shirt and shoes. His throat burned, and he felt too warm and exhausted. However, he wasn’t done. His stomach still felt full.

Mac decided one of the worst experiences was throwing up spaghetti. He clearly didn’t chew it enough, and the long strands hung down the back of his throat. Resigning himself to his fate, he began to pull on the strands that tickled his throat.

Relief washed over him when the pasta was gone, but it was short-lived when he tried to expel the bread-based foods that still weighed his stomach down. He reevaluated his worst experiences list when the small clumps of bread increased in size.

Then a chunk of bread got stuck in his throat. Over his growing panic, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. It was too far down to reach with his fingers, but that didn’t stop his attempts. He didn’t want to die from trying to throw up bread. He didn’t want his friends to find him half-naked and dead, leaning against the toilet.

“Hey, Mac? You okay, bud?” was the only warning Mac received before the unlocked door swung open.

The universe instead decided he would be found half-naked and alive with fingers reaching desperately down his throat.

“Whoa…” Jack muttered as he and Matty stood in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of them.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut as shame fought with panic for dominance. He was still coughing, trying to get the piece of bread out of his throat. The last thing he wanted was to have his friends watch him make himself throw up, but he still felt like he was suffocating. It wasn’t like the puzzle pieces were hard to fit together either; they knew what he was doing.

Deciding dying would be worse, he used his already slick fingers to retrigger his gag reflex. A hand quickly grabbed his arm and pulled it away from his face. “Hey, man, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Even if it wasn’t a good idea, it was effective. The third round of puking removed the bread. He dropped his head onto the seat, riding through the waves of nausea and burning in his throat and stomach. He grumbled, “Go away.”

“No can do. You aren’t feeling well, and I’m not just gonna leave you.”

Mac lifted his head to glare at Jack and Matty. “I’m fine-”

Jack interrupted him, “We must have different definitions of fine because I don’t consider making yourself throw up fine.” He sighed when Mac’s glare dissolved, and he looked like a kid being scolded from stealing from the cookie jar. “Hey, Matty, mind going back outside and telling them Mac’s feeling sick? I’ll take care of him.”

Matty hesitantly agreed and left the bathroom. Mac flushed the toilet and shakily pulled himself off the ground. He turned to Jack and asked, “Why are you here?” He cleared his abused throat before quietly adding, “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“You were gone for over half an hour, and something was clearly wrong.” Jack grabbed his arm again when Mac reached for his toothbrush. “Don’t do that. You’ll just rub acid into your teeth. Wash your hands and rinse your mouth. I’ll get you something to drink.”

After Jack left, Mac did what he was told and shuffled into his room. He pulled on his sweatpants and a comfy t-shirt. He went to clean everything off his bed to hide the evidence of his binge, but Jack entered the room before he could start.

“Jack, I…” he trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

If Jack had a reaction, he hid it well and handed Mac a glass of water. “Drink this. I’ll throw this out.” 

Since Mac didn’t have the energy for an argument that he would inevitably lose, he obliged and watched Jack throw away all the empty wrappers and containers. He sat on his bed and mumbled “thanks” to his friend.

Jack plopped down next to him, ruffling his hair. “I can’t say I really understand this, but I know you’re hurting. We do have to talk about it.” Mac grimaced as if he were just punched in the gut, but Jack continued, “But we’ll do it after you rest and feel better, okay?"

Jack stayed on the edge of the bed but moved his hand from Mac’s hair to his back when the latter curled up under the covers. Mac struggled for a moment to think of something to say to Jack then blurted out, “You can go back outside if you want.”

Jack patted Mac’s back and shook his head with a smile. “Nah, I’m okay sitting with you. You need to get some rest though.”

He shut his eyes and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Before Mac drifted off completely, he heard Jack respond: “Shit happens. We still love you, and we’re here to help. Now rest that big brain of yours, and please don’t lock us out, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine is not going well for me, and I procrastinated on this fic for days. Feel free to leave criticism or errors to fix.  
> Thanks for reading this! If you liked it, check me out on Instagram: [@vi.nyctae](https://www.instagram.com/vi.nyctae/?hl=en)


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